All that we deserve
by oldmule
Summary: Harry's first Christmas post 10.6. Despair and hope.
1. Chapter 1

**Not sure what this is other than to say that it's hopefully in the spirit of all good Christmas tales. Set a few months after 10.6.**

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><p>The weary sun rises, weak and low on the horizon, its tired fingers stretching slowly across the window. The first rays break through the glass, creeping forward across the wooden floor of the living room… 'lounge' perhaps would be a better word, 'living' is something the room, nor even the house has seen little of, not in the past and most certainly not in recent weeks.<p>

The light's reach falls upon a pair of black, shiny shoes and rises up the sharp creases of a dark suit, finally spreading over the prone figure of a man slumped in a chair. A chink of sunlight catches the cut glass cradled in his hand and suddenly the amber liquid within is illuminated like burning gold.

The vague warmth, magnified by the glass from the window tries to breathe life into him, tries to encourage him to come back to the land of the living. He moans quietly and his eyes begin to flutter awake. The glare of the light blinds him and he screws closed his eyes.

Another night asleep in the chair, another night with a bottle as company, another night when he wishes it could have been him.

He sighs, knowing the world is the same today as it was yesterday and will be again tomorrow. Same and no better.

"Were we so undeserving?" he says wearily, "Couldn't you have just given us some time together … something?" he asks of whichever deity might possibly be listening.

But he knows none is. And he knows the answer anyway.

"Of course, you couldn't. Give and take ... mainly take. As soon as we got close you took. Always."

He gets up, stiff and aching. The world no kinder today than any other day, possibly more colourful, more tinsel clad, though not in his house, but certainly no more sparing to his feelings.

He is about to put down the glass when he thinks better of it and instead raises it before him in a toast to the unseen.

"Thanks," he says bitterly, "…for nothing." And then he drains the liquid and goes to work.

* * *

><p>Erin hands him a Christmas card. He thanks her and watches her hesitate a moment before walking away to the door. It slides closed behind her. He puts the card unopened into his drawer with the others. Erin reappears.<p>

"Harry… about Christmas …would you like to ….?"

He cuts her off quickly.

"I'm going to my daughter's."

"Oh, right," she says, uncertain she believes him.

"But thanks for the offer."

He smiles and she turns away.

It is not a total untruth. Catherine had asked. But he isn't worthy company for anyone. The only Christmas spirit he is feeling comes out of a bottle.

At nine o'clock he is still there, looking out now at an empty grid, no desk lights burning in the darkness, no solitary figure watching him from across the floor, no warm smile, no blue eyes.

He stands and tugs on his coat. Time to go.

* * *

><p>He walks up the path to the house. He has left a light on. In a way it makes the welcome warmer.<p>

It's just a light.

He takes off his coat greeted by the warmth.

He begins to tug the tie from his neck and feels instead the pull of the bottle calling to him. The same glass from that morning sits conveniently close to the single malt and he replenishes it.

"You're drinking too much," he mutters to himself.

"So no change there then."

He spins around.

His breath is ragged.

"Are you okay, Harry?" she asks.

He wants to reach out for support but he dare not move and so he freezes hoping the world will do likewise.

He refuses to let his tired, sore eyes blink for fear she will not be there when they reopen.

And in the end he manages only one quiet, desperate, doubting word.

"Ruth….."


	2. Chapter 2

She sits there, in the chair he has fallen asleep in so many lonely nights.

And she smiles.

"You're not real," he whispers.

"I know."

And the world is spinning slowly as he tries to understand all he sees before him.

"Am I drunk?" he asks, still not daring to look away, to glance at the glass and the bottle.

"No. Not yet."

"Am I dreaming you?"

"No, Harry, you're awake."

"Can I touch you, Ruth?"

She doesn't answer this time but shakes her head sadly.

He moves finally, slowly edging forward towards the chair, his eyes never leaving her. One hand reaches around for the stool he knows is nearby and drags it close. He lowers himself down before her, gazing, soaking in every detail until the tears begin to blur his view.

"Don't cry, Harry."

"I've missed you so much," he whispers, "it's so hard without you."

"I know," she reassures.

"It's not fair. You didn't deserve this, Ruth," he manages eventually, "you deserved a life. I should have let you go. If I'd not involved you, you would have been safe... alive."

For the first time his eyes drift away as he roughly wipes away the tears that are threatening to fall.

"I would always have been involved, Harry…with you."

"No," he snaps suddenly, "I could have stopped you. If I could do it again it'd be different. I'd keep you away."

She is smiling at him.

"You can't always save the world, you know."

"I only wanted to save the girl."

"You need to let it go, Harry. Let me go."

He shakes his head.

"I can't."

"You can."

"I don't want to," he admits. "Stay here with me."

This time it's her turn to shake her head.

"I'm not real Harry."

"But I can see you. It's so good to see you, Ruth."

"I can't stay," she says softly.

"Please," he begs.

"Harry, try not to drink so much."

A tree branch cracks violently against the window, his head spins to the noise. When he looks back the chair is empty.

"Ruth…?"

She is gone.

"Ruth!" he calls desperately. "Ruth!"

He falls into the chair seeking something, some sense of her, some essence, something he can cling to in this hollow, empty life that is left to him, bereft once more without her. There is nothing.

A rage rises violently within him and he flings the side lamp across the room. The bottle of malt is kicked viciously and smashes against the fireplace. The coffee table is upturned, it's contents shattering on the wooden floorboards beneath.

And then as the tornado of fury within him wanes he falls back into the chair and lets go. Through the tears and the wracking sobs he watches the last of the whiskey drip from the broken bottle.

"I won't drink tonight, Ruth," he declares through quivering lips and then he buries his head in his hands, lost once more.

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><p>He wakes, in the chair, the weak winter sun on his face trying to breathe life into him as it did every morning. His eyes are sore, his head as thick as if he had indulged in the glories of the glass. He wonders if he did dream her after all.<p>

Standing slowly he switches off the lamp beside him and picks up his keys from the coffee table. He looks at the bottle of malt nearby and picks it up. He shakes his head.

"Okay, Ruth, I'll try," he replaces it and looks around the room, sighing.

"Come back tonight. Be in my dreams again."

The branch of the tree taps against the window and disturbs his reverie. He glances at his watch and turns upstairs for a shower.

* * *

><p>As he drives through the city a text message demands his attention. Stopping at the next lights he picks it up the phone and reads.<p>

The horns blare behind and headlights flash impatiently but the range rover still doesn't move. A cab driver leaves his vehicle and marches to the window hammering against the glass. The sharply dressed man inside seems oblivious.

"Leave your bloody phone alone and get moving!" He batters the window again as the lights return to green once more.

"For christ's sake!"

Harry is still looking at the phone in his hands. The caller ID alone has his attention.

_Ruth. _

But the message...

_I think we need to talk. Call me. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Think I now have a plan in sight. Hopefully it'll make some kind of sense...kind of! Thanks for all your lovely reviews. x**

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><p><em>Call me<em>, she had said and so he does.

"Hi."

It is her voice that answers. Quiet, almost far away, but her voice.

"Hi," he replies, unknowing where this is going, or how, or why, but desperate to not let her vanish again.

"Can you meet me?" she asks.

"Of course."

"Come to the home office, I'll be in the secure car park."

"Okay," he pauses, "you will be there, won't you, Ruth? You won't disappear again?"

"What? Yes, I'll be there."

And the phone line goes dead.

* * *

><p>He waits behind the wheel and watches her walk across the deserted car park. She is beautiful, as always. And his heart aches for the sight of her. No matter how many times he wakes and knows she is gone he will always crave these dreams, these snapshots of her, if that's what this is.<p>

But this time he is sure he is awake. That this is real.

She climbs into the range rover and he watches her for a few moments.

"Just like old times," he breathes quietly.

"You look tired," she says.

"I feel tired."

And he does. Tired of life. Tired of life without her.

They sit quietly.

"I don't know what to believe anymore," he admits, "I don't know what to trust, even my own eyes…myself."

She laughs ironically.

"What?" he asks.

"Elena Gavrik said the same thing about you, that you couldn't even trust yourself. I didn't know what she meant."

And suddenly alarm bells seem to be ringing in his head. Suddenly something is wrong, wrong and yet familiar.

"Elena?" he asks, "why are you talking about Elena?"

"You know why, Harry."

But he doesn't. All he knows is that something is wrong.

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat and glances at her watch.

"Towers thinks I've gone to see my mum, I better get back."

"Towers?"

She reaches for the door but he stops her.

"Ruth, Towers doesn't matter."

"He does when he pays the wages, Harry."

"Wait, please," he begs and scrambles for his phone searching for today's date.

October 27th.

Unbelieving he dials the grid, his fingers clumsy in their haste.

"Erin, status report?" he demands.

"Coaver's laptop is definitely in the Embassy. Calum's trying to find a way to get in there now."

Harry says nothing. He cancels the call.

"I can change it," he whispers.

And it all begins to make sense. It's October. She's alive. And he has his wish, he has the chance to fix this.

"I can make it right," he says.

"Make what right?"

His eyes are brought back to her. The face he would choose to look at every moment, waking or sleeping, but most of all the face he would choose to see alive.

"Elena," he declares, "I can make it right with Elena."

She looks away, waiting for what she knows is coming.

"I was in love with her, Ruth….I still am."

And even though she's prepared it hurts none the less. It hurts her down to her very soul.

"I'm sorry," he breathes.

He sees her jaw clench, her eyes harden to guard herself from what she is feeling.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she adds, "after all, it's not as though there was ever anything between us."

He grabs her hand.

"There was, Ruth, you know there was," and then slowly he releases it, aware of the touch, aware of what he is about to say.

"…But not now. Not anymore. I'm sorry but I can't lose Elena again and I will make it right with her and the boy."

She nods.

"I think it probably for the best that we don't see each other again," he adds.

"Yes, I think you're right."

"I'm glad you went to work for Towers," he says after a moment.

"So am I. It's good to be appreciated, to make a fresh start," she is trying hard to keep the bitterness from her voice.

"He thinks a lot of you, Ruth. He's a good man. He could make you happy."

Her head turns sharply to him and she glares with vicious, wounded eyes.

"I don't need you to find me a soulmate, Harry, not out of guilt. Not for any reason."

He knows he has gone too far but he has to make sure this is the end.

"I don't want to see you lonely, Ruth."

"Don't worry about me," she snaps, "I'm not your responsibility."

And with that she begins to clamber out.

"Goodbye, Harry," she says and closes the door with more control and dignity than she feels.

He watches her walk away. Head held high.

"Goodbye Ruth."

He doesn't drive the car, he doesn't start the engine. He just prays, to something, to someone.

"If this is real, if this counts for anything, if this is my second chance then let her be safe, please let her be safe…and happy. That's all I ask. Please, God. Please let her be safe."

When he goes to bed that night, or rather when he collapses into the chair, his mind haunted by the hurt in her eyes as he told her he loved Elena still, he consoles himself with the fact that he might have saved her.

And as he drifts off to sleep he wonders what tomorrow might hold - be it December or October.


	4. Chapter 4

The sound of ringing wakes him.

He leaves it until the answerphone kicks in.

"Harry, it's Towers. This thing with Jim Coaver, the Americans are proving difficult to appease. Want their human sacrifice. I'll see you in person later but for now I just wanted to send you an early smoke signal, give you a couple of hours in case there's anything you need to wrap up."

He looks out of the window, the sun is bright and warm. This morning he knows where he is and when he is and he knows what he has to do. He knows that today he can make things right without anyone getting hurt.

He dresses and closes the door behind him.

As he climbs into his car his mobile rings.

"Erin."

"Harry, Calum's recovered what Tariq found. It's Elena Gavrik. She's the one who took the computer."

"I know," says Harry simply.

"You know?" she repeats, "how?"

"Don't ask."

He starts the engine, "Bring her in, Erin."

"She's already in. She called us. Said she needs to talk to you."

"I'm on my way."

"She's not here, Harry. Dimitri's taken her somewhere secure."

With a sinking feeling he asks the next question.

"Where?"

"On the coast. A former cold war base. I'll send you the coordinates."

She ends the call.

"No need," he murmurs.

And he wonders how everything can be different and yet conspire to be the same.

He pulls away and speeds in the direction of the place he never wanted to see again.

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><p>"She's in an old interrogation room," announces Dimitri as he joins Harry by the tower. "She'll only talk to you. Sasha's with her."<p>

Harry looks at him, "anyone else?"

"Calum. Erin's on her way."

"No one else?"

"No, should there be?"

"No," says Harry entering the building, "no one else. Most defiantly no one else."

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><p>He walks into the room, stops and stares at Elena.<p>

"I know," he says, "and this ends now."

She smiles, playing him as ever.

"No Harry, there's so much you don't know, so much I must tell you."

"Sasha is not my son. I never recruited you, you recruited me and now the group you work for are trying to tear our two countries apart."

She looks at him, for once speechless.

"Anything I missed?" he asks glibly, though he does not wait for an answer. He walks away raising the phone to his ear.

"Home Secretary, a Russian passenger plane will shortly cross into British airspace and cease communications. It is a suicide mission, an attempt by a former Soviet group to force the end of diplomatic talks. It poses no danger, it must be allowed to land safely."

He pauses for the response.

"No, sir. We've been played by the Gavrik's. Well, by Elena Gavrik. I'm bringing her in now, Ilya can see her then."

He hangs up.

"Let's get her out of here," he announces to Dimitri as he strides past.

They walk towards the vehicles, Elena flanked by Calum and Dimitri. The breeze is blowing, the rough sea grass brushing against Harry's legs, the elements all reminding him… reminding him of a cold, still, dying figure. But no more. Because she is in Whitehall. She is safe. And so he shrugs aside the memory.

Ahead of them Erin's car drives up the track.

"How did you know, Harry?" Elena calls to him.

"Let's just say I had a dream," he replies without even glancing back.

"I thought it might have been your Ruth, I think she is perhaps a good deal more perceptive than you."

He chooses not to reply, she is right.

"Though I am not so sure she is _your_ Ruth anymore."

He turns, eyes burning.

"She has nothing to do this," he growls.

She nods beyond him.

"Then why is she here?"

He spins around to see Erin hurrying across the grass ... and with her, Ruth.

He strides towards them, panic rising.

"Go, now," he snarls.

"Harry…" Ruth begins.

He grabs her arm roughly, "you can't be here!"

It is then that the sound of the gun resonates across the sky and stops them all.


	5. Chapter 5

Calum lays clutching his bloody leg. Dimitri is face down, Sasha's knee in his back restraining him. But it is the porcelain, painted face of Elena Gavrik who wields the gun, aiming it now directly at Harry Pearce.

"Do you really think I was going to go with you, Harry? You never learn do you?"

He is already standing in front of Ruth. He won't let this happen again, whatever happens to him, she will survive.

He smiles at Elena, "you don't think you can actually get away with this?"

"Ilya will believe enough to get us back to Russia. He knows you recruited me, he thinks he knows and that I do not. I will tell him you abducted me, threatened me, hurt me and that Sasha came and you were shot."

She smiles serenely at him, "We have to go home, Ilya," she says in a plaintive, pleading voice. "Please take me home."

Erin laughs scornfully beside Harry and the gun swings round to her and fires, taking out her knee. Harry instinctively bends to help her.

"Stay where you are!" demands Elena.

Harry glares at her, this woman he had once felt a responsibility for.

"If you want me then let the rest go. Just let them walk out of here."

"Hobble, more like," mutters a grimacing Calum.

"Don't be silly Harry," says Elena, "they are witnesses."

He is still standing in front of Ruth, painfully aware of her closeness, he hears her breathing and he feels… something. He feels a hard shape pressed into the base of his back, a shape with a muzzle.

"They won't say anything, you have my word on that," he tries.

Now Elena laughs. A real laugh, not her practiced socially astute, public faced laughter but something real and unpleasant.

"Let's start with Ruth," she smiles.

Harry half turns to Ruth and as he does his right hand slips from his side to behind his back. She presses the gun into his hand.

"Come on, out you come, he can't protect you anymore," goads Elena, eyes fixed on the semi hidden figure.

Harry nods at her and she steps out clear of him. Her faith, her trust in him complete as it ever was. He turns, gun raised and with three rapid shots fells Elena Gavrik.

Sasha screams. Dimitri elbows him in the crotch and pulls him to the ground. Ruth falls to her knees to help Erin.

"I'm okay," she grimaces, "though we might need to invest in a matching set of crutches." She looks up as Calum limps over towards them.

"I'm just fine and dandy, thanks for asking," he mutters.

Harry turns to Ruth reproachfully.

"You shouldn't be here."

"You don't love her do you?" she asks quietly.

He shakes his head, "Not _her_, no," and he gazes at her.

Dimitri cries out in pain.

They turn.

Sasha has the gun from Elena's hand. He lifts it angrily.

Ruth steps in front of Harry.

With an anguished cry Sasha fires.

And as the bullet hits the centre of her chest….Ruth falls.

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><p><strong>Family just descended but will try and get next chapter up tonight or tomorrow. Apologies for ending it there again! <strong>


	6. Chapter 6

The weak, winter sun is long past trying to wake him. It illuminates the far side of the room, any warmth it had is lost to him.

He sleeps a restless sleep in the old chair.

The tree branch scrapes at the window but he does not stir. It taps intermittently, somehow insistent he should wake. Eventually it gets its way.

His eyes open. He feels groggy, he glances to the empty whiskey glass still cradled in his hand, he puts it down clumsily and runs his hand across the rough stubble of his chin.

Should he really be drinking at 11.30 in the morning, he wonders.

It's Christmas. That is his justification. And let's face it, he's had a hell of a year.

He slowly rises from the chair and ambles over to the window. The world goes by quietly. People walking. Carrying bags and presents. Greetings on the street. Warm wishes and kisses.

He looks on, his mind elsewhere, on all that was lost.

"Oh, you're awake."

He turns.

He gazes at her, standing there before him, her blue eyes sparkling brightly.

And for a moment he wonders.

"Are you real, Ruth?"

She peers at him strangely.

"Well unless the turkey's just put itself in…"

He stares at her, his eyes haunted.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"Come here," is all the answer she gets.

Patiently she walks over to him and he enfolds her in his arms, pressing her so close, so tightly she can barely breathe.

"Why did you come, Ruth? Why did you turn up with Erin?"

She keeps her head buried in his chest.

"Why?" he insists.

"I'll tell you later, it's stupid."

He pulls away from her, his hands gripping her shoulders tightly, his eyes fixed on hers.

"Tell me!"

"Harry, does it really matter?"

"Yes, it matters," he snaps, "you could have been killed."

"I was wearing a vest. I wasn't going to get killed," she bites back.

"You don't know that, Ruth. There's so much you don't know!"

Her eyes burn with curiosity and concern at the passion and desperation in his voice.

"Harry, what on earth is wrong?" she asks again.

He shakes his head and for a moment his eyes drift back to the chair behind her, the chair that became his bed, the chair that witnessed his heartbreak.

"Do you have any idea, any idea whatsoever of how I would feel if I lost you?"

She can't answer, she can only look at his face, at those haunted eyes that refocus on her.

"Because _I_ do. I know exactly how it would be and I don't want to go through that ever again."

"Again?" she asks, bewildered.

"Yes again. Now tell me, Ruth."

Her hands slide to her shoulders and pull his hands away, interlocking their fingers and holding them to her chest.

"I had a dream."

He blinks with surprise.

"I dreamt that Elena shot you. You died without me being able to tell you that I loved you. I told Erin that though it sounded stupid I thought you were in danger and I knew that I had to find you."

"Even though I'd told you I loved Elena?"

She smiles, "You've always loved me, Harry."

For the first time since she walked in on him she sees the haunted look begin to slip away.

"You're very sure of yourself," he murmurs.

And she knows she's on her way to bringing him back to her from wherever he's been.

"You were always smitten, admit it," she teases.

"And you weren't?" he smiles.

"No, Harry, I wasn't."

He raises his eyebrows.

"You grew on me," she adds and grins mischievously, "…like mould."

"Mould?" he asks, trying to look wounded.

"But a lovely, furry, healing kind."

"Mould, Ruth?"

"The sort that would inspire Pasteur, the glorious kind," she unwinds a hand from his and begins to stroke his chest, her fingers poking through the gaps in his shirt.

"Do you think for a moment that's going to get round me?" he asks.

"I have no doubt whatsoever."

She continues, the smile sneaking across her lips.

He grabs her and halts it, the seriousness returning to his face.

"Never leave me Ruth. Never, ever leave me."

"It's taken me so bloody long to get you, the last thing I plan on doing is leaving you, Harry."

His eyes sparkle at her.

"And you are a stubborn old mule, Ruth."

"As stubborn as they come. And you know what - I'm going nowhere."

"Good," he says starting to kiss her neck, "How long till dinner?"

Her hands press him closer, the mischief alight in her eyes as his buttons begin to slide free.

"Long enough, Harry. Long enough."

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><p><strong>Hope this brings you all a Happy Christmas. And thank you again for the reviews. An epilogue may follow.<strong>


	7. Epilogue

**A Christmas Day present in the form of a short epilogue.**

* * *

><p>Harry sits in the chair.<p>

That chair.

Illuminated only by the flickering Christmas lights. Warmed not by the now retired sun but by the body of Ruth, who is sprawled comfortably across him.

"Harry?"

"Mmm," he says, more vibration than word.

"What did you mean again?" she asks.

"What did I mean about what?"

"Again."

"What did I mean about what?" he repeats.

"No!" she says, exasperatedly glancing up at him only to realise from those sparkling eyes that he knows precisely what she means.

She sighs, playing along and patiently begins once more.

"What did you mean when you said you knew what it was like to have lost me and you didn't want to go through that ever again?"

"I meant Cyprus," he answers simply.

"No, you didn't."

"Why ask me if you're not prepared to accept the answer?"

"I'll happily accept it when it's true."

He sighs. He won't win this.

"Please, Ruth, we've had such a wonderful day. Some other time."

"No. Now, Harry," she insists.

He sighs.

"You know you said your dream sounded stupid?" he asks.

She nods.

"Well, trust me, this beats it hands down."

She raises her eyebrows and waits and after a long moment he proceeds to tell her all he knows and the little he understand of everything that has happened.

And as he talks she wipes the tears from his face and clutches his hand and begins to finally comprehend the haunted look that had overcome him earlier.

And when he has finished they sit in silence for many minutes until the tree branch taps at the window and recalls them to the present.

They look at each other with needy, loving eyes and he kisses her, trying in that one kiss to show her how much she means and much he loves her. But she pushes him away.

"Your present!" she says, "I've not given you your present,"

He strokes her face, "you're my present,Ruth."

She smiles, "nice but not good enough."

She unfolds herself from him and heads for the Christmas tree grabbing a small, delicately wrapped box.

"Is this for me?" she asks cheekily, picking up a second.

He hesitates and gives her an unconvincing yes, for in all truth he cannot remember a time when he bought it.

She replants herself across his knee and hands him the gift.

" You first," she says.

"No, you, I insist."

She sighs, "together, Harry."

And so they begin to unwrap their presents, smiling like children.

They both look slightly surprised to find the two similar boxes they expose.

And they both gape, equally shocked when they open them: he to find a matching set of simple, brushed gold wedding bands; and her to discover the most elegant diamond and sapphire engagement ring.

They gaze from the rings to each other.

"Oh, Harry, it's beautiful, truly beautiful."

"You got these for us?" he asks looking at the bands and then Ruth.

She laughs, "Well there's no one else, if that's what you're thinking."

He still looks perplexed. Trying hard to remember.

"Ruth, have I actually asked you to marry me?"

And now her smile falters.

"Apart from in the churchyard?"

"Well, no..." she hesitates, "I just thought..."

And now her smile fades as he begins to remove her from his lap.

"Harry, I thought ..."

"Shush," he whispers and begins to bend down towards the discarded wrapping paper.

"Oh, leave that," she snaps.

"I'm not leaving it, Ruth. I'm doing it properly, though you'll have to give me a minute. You've been sat on my knee for so long, I've lost touch with my legs."

And he is somehow on one knee before her and her smile is returning.

He takes a deep breath and then her hand.

"Marry me, Ruth. Marry me because I can't ever be without you again. Marry me because we deserve to be happy. Marry me because I love you more than I thought possible. Marry me, Ruth?"

She sinks to her knees before him and kisses him with every ounce of her soul.

"Was that a yes?" he eventually asks breathlessly.

" No, Harry, that was an awful lot more than just a yes!"


End file.
